


Tin Ball Countdown

by milk_or_vodka



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Bad Writing, Boys Kissing, First Kiss, Frottage, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Underage Drinking, cliches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:35:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22731856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milk_or_vodka/pseuds/milk_or_vodka
Summary: Mike and Will spend the summer together.
Relationships: Will Byers/Mike Wheeler
Comments: 30
Kudos: 93





	Tin Ball Countdown

**Author's Note:**

> Just wanted to add that this work takes place in an AU where nothing supernatural happened. So seasons 1-3+ don't exist. Mike and Will are just two normal teens.

Will was right against the sun: skin pasty, hair blowing gently in the breeze, eyes squinting down at Mike. An almost angelic halo had formed around his figure. Mike, laying back on his knobby elbows, kicked his foot in the general direction of Will’s. “Go on, then.” Will nodded.

They were at Sattler’s Quarry, at the cliff’s edge. The summer sun was beating down, the air hot and sticky. Mike was lazily listening to the water lap at the shore below. A few feet in front of him, close to the edge, Will was polishing their work. Mike took a moment to look at him. Reflect on how much he changed. Will was all grown up. He still had his pale skin, his awkward bowl cut, his too-tight clothes. But he was taller now, with broader shoulders and a firmer face. His shirt was bright red and yellow, like kindergarten Crayolas. Shorts royal blue. Mike spotted a white streak on the back of Will’s leg. Sunscreen Will had neglected to rub in. He snorted. Some things never change.

“You’re staring at me,” Will said, tossing a look back at Mike. Mike looked down at his shoes.

“Yeah, because you’re taking so long,” he huffed. “How long does it take to set up anyway?”

Will rolled his eyes, continued his work. In his hands was a bottle rocket, painted by Will, contents mixed by Mike. They had spent the first few weeks of their summer milling. Mike would call Will, Will would call Lucas, Lucas would call Dustin. There were a few lackluster D&D sessions, some dull conversations. Eventually Lucas and Dustin answered their calls less and less. Started talking with their shiny new girlfriends more and more. Will had almost given up on trying when Mike had phoned and asked, _ Do you wanna make a bottle rocket? _

Will fumbled the bottle again, and Mike shuffled, hovering next to Will. He jolted when Mike swiped at the back of his leg.

“Sunscreen,” Mike said, showing the lotion on his finger. “Can I help?”

“Might as well,” Will said defeatedly. 

With a light pop, Mike jammed the bottle onto its launcher. Will gave him an embarrassed smile. “Sorry. Thanks.”

Mike beamed back. “No problem.”

They both stepped back, Mike gripping the launch string, Will staring excitedly. Mike almost tugged, until he looked over the bottle rocket again. White and chimney red. With blue circles for windows and a toy soldier taped to its side, the only passenger on the expedition. Mike had jokingly named the passenger Jennifer Hayes, and at the time, Will had just rolled his eyes. Now, with any luck, the bottle (and Jennifer) would be up-ended into the water below.

Mike flashed an apologetic look to Will. “The paint looks really good on it.”

Will blinked. Face reddened. “Oh, yeah, uh, thanks.”

Mike held out his hand, and for a moment Will thought he wanted him to hold it. But then Will spotted the launch string in the center of his palm. He hesitated. “Are you sure?”

Mike shrugged. “You did most of the work anyway.”

He gave a shy smile. “Thanks.” 

String in hand, Will started to count down. 

_ Three… _

_ Two… _

_ One… _

The rocket soared.

* * *

_ The phone rings, jumping for Mike’s attention. He freezes at the sight, looking at his mother’s back. He had just entered the kitchen, softly, and she was preoccupied with preparing dinner. Maybe she hadn’t seen him come in. Maybe he can just turn around and walk away… _

_ Mike turns to leave but his mother’s heavy sigh stops him. “Mike,” she calls out, peeking over her shoulder, “do you mind getting the phone? My hands are covered in flour.” _

_ “Sure,” he says, gritting his teeth. His hand reaches for the phone, slowly, half-hoping it will stop ringing.  _ Please don’t let it be Will, _ he thinks.  _

Please let it be Will.

_ “Hello?” he answers. A frantic voice comes through on the line. _

_ “Who is it?” his mother asks. _

_ Mike’s brows are furrowed. “Will’s mom.” _

* * *

Outside of Castle Byers, the sky thundered and the ground softened, relenting to the sharp, demanding rain. Inside, a warm light lit up Will’s face as he stared down his newest project. Mike was beside him, keenly aware of the soft specks of rain that dotted his skin. A discarded newspaper was strewn across his lap. Paint splotches dotted it. In his hand remained his crummy toy car-- a misshapen, wooden  _ thing  _ with messy paint and an underwhelming aesthetic. Will’s, of course, looked perfect. Mike glared at Will’s toy car. Will was applying a second layer of paint, hunched over the object with a fine detail brush. His hand was steady as he gently lowered the tip of the brush into the paint jar, then guided it across the car’s body. Smooth. Slow. Mike was almost not-jealous. He could watch Will paint forever.

Mike’s eyes wandered over Castle Byers. A little small, but still sturdy. Several discarded comics littered the enclosed area. Art supplies cluttered the surfaces. Mike could spot a few polaroids and random magazine clippings peeking out of stacks of books. Will’s old scribbles, that had at one time claimed the ramshackle walls as their own, had now been replaced with skillful paintings and charcoal sketches. One in particular caught Mike’s eye. 

A fish with large, hypnotic eyes and terrifying spikes glared down at him. Its fins were long and flowing, its scales shiny. Though it lacked any color, having been done in black charcoal, it still held Mike’s gaze. He was curious what kind of fish it was, if it even existed. 

He resisted cracking a joke about the fish looking like Jennifer Hayes. Instead, he asked innocently, “What is that?” 

Will looked up briefly. “Oh, I don’t know. I just dreamt it once.”

“Sounds exciting.” Mike picked at the corner of his newspaper. “Wish mine were like that.”

Will hummed in response. He resumed his painting.

Mike glanced over at his friend. His mouth twisted into a sly smile when he realized that somehow, Will had managed to get a splotch of blue paint on his cheek. He was about to voice his finding when he noticed something else. The edge of Will’s eyebrow. When he had turned his head, his bangs parted just enough for Mike to see a scab forming. He sucked in a breath.

“What happened?” Mike asked quietly.

Will looked up, bewildered for a moment. He shrugged when he realized what Mike was referring to. “Oh, my dad…”

“He’s back? Again?” Mike shot up. “I thought your mom said—”

“She  _ always  _ says she’s going to leave him,” Will interrupted, rolling his eyes. 

“You should have told me. I would’ve invited you over or—”

“It’s fine,” Will interjected, again. “I’m here with you now.”

Mike chewed his lip. “Still.” The news wasn’t too surprising. The cycle of Will’s father leaving, returning, getting kicked out,  _ returning, _ had become a common occurrence in the Byers household. Will told Mike he was used to it. But Mike wasn’t. It was still jarring to see Will with bruises and scratches, even when it had happened a million times before.

“I’m fine, Mike.” Will pulled his car back, examining it. “Does this look okay?”

Mike kicked off the newspapers on his lap, abandoned his sloppy toy car. Scooted next to Will to get a better look. He finally understood why Will had taken so long on his. The picture was simple but sweet. On the side of the car’s body was a condensed painting, one of a wizard overlooking a grassy cliff. Just under the cliff were a pack of snarling monsters. Mike couldn’t help it; his mouth quirked into a smile. Will noticed.

“I guess that’s good, then?” Will gave a soft laugh.

“Will…” Mike’s eyes wandered over the car. Over Will. “Will, this is  _ so good. _ ”

Will turned red. “Thanks, Mike.”

“I’m still going to beat you in the race, though.”

Will laughed again, louder. “With that ugly thing? No way.”

Mike shuffled back to his spot, grabbing his car along the way. It  _ was  _ ugly, a lame blue shade. He had carved it terribly. Knicks and dents scattered over its surface. The wheels were barely smooth. But Mike just rolled his eyes in response to Will. “A pretty car won’t mean anything on the track. My car is heavy; it’ll go down faster. It’s science.”

Will shrugged, a hint of a smirk on his face. “We’ll see.” He turned away from Mike, looking for his spray bottle of coating. But Mike stared for several seconds longer, and averted his eyes when he realized what he was doing. He was feeling a little strange.

It was probably just the weather.

* * *

_ Mike thinks about Will. About his straight hair and his skinny legs and his pillowy thighs. About the birthmarks dotting his neck. About his artist’s hands, white and creamy and slender. The way his front teeth are a tad too long. The thick sweep of his eyelashes. _

_ Mike thinks about Will’s face when he cries. The button-red nose, the puffy pink under eyes. Splotchy skin and wet cheeks. When he’s drunk, Will’s eyes cloud over. His voice sounds like cursive. And he tells Mike things he’d normally draw. Secrets and heartbreak. His mom, his dad. Jonathan.  _

_ Mike has seen Will drunk more than Dustin or Lucas. The first time was at the party Jennifer Hayes had invited him to. Mike didn’t think much of Will’s drinking then. It was a party. _

_ But then there were little things. Will showing up to school with a pounding headache, chewing cinnamon gum and blinking his red eyes owlishly. Will slurring his words when they talked over the phone. Will crashing his bike on the way to Mike’s. _

_ Mike thinks about Will, and his cinnamon gum and his artist’s hands and his crying. He thinks about Will and remembers how often he’d look over at Will and practically  _ melt _ , worrying over how much Will had had to drink that day, whether he was going to get in trouble, lah lah lah. _

_ And then he thinks about Lonnie. Lonnie with his sailor’s mouth, Lonnie with his stumbling gait. Lonnie with wandering hands and his yellow teeth. Lonnie with Will. Will with bruises. And Mike, knowing how and why Will chewed cinnamon gum and buried himself in drawings and cried all the time. _

* * *

“So I’m standing in a field, you know? Just an empty one. Like, the kind with dead grass and stuff. Well, I don’t  _ know  _ what I’m doing there, but being there feels…  _ wrong _ . And I start to get this panicky feeling. I want to run, but every direction looks the same. And just like that, I see someone. A man, maybe. Just a dark, human blob, with no eyes. And it approaches me and it says, ‘I’m sorry. You were too late.’”

Mike glanced up at Will, searching for a reaction. He was huddled at the bottom of the makeshift race track, adding more tape to the cardboard supports. Will was at the top, doing the same for the side of the track. His brows were furrowed, mouth a flat line. “That’s a weird dream,” he said slowly. “Maybe the blob wants you to come over at twelve when I say, ‘Come over at twelve.’”

Mike rolled his eyes playfully. “I was late by ten minutes.”

Will grinned, shaking his head lightly. He smoothed his fingers over a piece of tape, attempting to squash the bubble that had formed just below its surface. “I thought you didn’t have exciting dreams,” Will said.

“I don’t.” Mike stood up, grabbed his car. Will did the same. “That’s what makes it so weird.”

Will placed his car on his side of the track. “Ready?”

Mike repeated the action with his car. “Yeah. Loser buys…?”

“Ice cream,” Will said quickly. “It’s  _ so  _ hot. You can buy me a strawberry cone.”

Mike rolled his eyes again. “Yeah, sure,” he said, sarcastic. “On your marks…”

_ One…  _

_ Two… _

_ Three… _

Mike’s car sped down the track, stuttered, and then flipped over. It was so heavy and misshapen that it up-ended itself. He groaned, watching it skid slowly on it’s back. Will cheered as his car passed Mike’s, whizzing past the finish line until it hit the wall with a thump. 

Will audibly gasped when his car fell off the track. His face split into a cheeky grin, and Mike felt elated at the sight, even after his loss.

“So, strawberry,” Will repeated, still smiling.

* * *

_ Mike’s mother is looking at him with a mixture of pity and heartbreak. Her eyes are shiny, her bottom lip trembling. Whole body stiff, like if she dares to breathe Mike will cry out. Mike, only a few inches away from her, is staring at the awkward tan line on his knees, just below his shorts. He should have put on sunscreen. Will put on sunscreen. _

_ “Honey?” Her voice is soft.  _

_ Mike still stares at the tan line. He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t let a tear slip from his eye, splashing his skin. His eyes don’t water so much they blur the sight of his knee. Because he doesn’t cry. He’s Mike Wheeler and Mike Wheeler doesn’t cry. _

_ “Honey, I can’t imagine how you’re feeling…” Her voice breaks at that. “But I’m here for you.” _

_ Mike recognizes the words and a weak sob rips from him. _

* * *

Mike awoke at 1:25 and didn’t check the clock until 1:26. He rose up, tired and confused, with his nightshirt damp with sweat and his mouth dry and chalky. 

The room around him was completely dark, lit only by the moonlight streaming in through his window. By now all of his family was asleep, and the house had an eerie silence because of it. Mike picked off strings of damp hair from his forehead. Wondered to himself why he had awoken so abruptly. He couldn’t recall what he had been dreaming of, but whatever it was, it was warm and sweet and comforting. 

Mike swung his feet over the side of his bed. His confused, rambling mind was thinking about a cool glass of water. He was half-way across his room when he heard, through static, a voice. “Mike?”

“Will?” He spun around, almost completely awake now. His eyes landed on his desk, where his walkie-talkie rested. Immediately he grabbed it, pressing the speak button. “Will?” he said again. Quietly. His family was still asleep.

A few long seconds passed. Mike grew anxious, embarrassed even. He thought maybe he had misheard. There his mind went again. Thinking about Will…

Then: “Oh, Mike?”

Mike breathed a sigh of relief. “Will?” he whispered. “Is something the matter? Are you okay?”

A hiss of static popped through. Mike peered through his window, down on the front lawn. As if he expected to see Will there, smiling and waving. But he wasn’t there. The yard was void of life.

“No, I’m…” Some noise followed. Mike couldn’t tell if it was the walkie or Will.

“You’re fine?” Mike prompted, heart racing. The silence was deafening.

“Yeah,” Will said after a few moments. Mike sighed again. 

He crossed the room to his dresser, taking the walkie with him. Pulling the drawers open slowly, he started to assemble an outfit. Will hadn’t asked, but he didn’t need to. Mike could tell when he was lying.

“I just wanted to hear your voice,” Will said, sounding groggy. A pause. “Is… that okay?”

Mike pulled a new shirt on before replying. “Yeah. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Will responded quickly. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

He buckled his pants. Lied. “No, I was up.”

Mike started to lace up his shoes just as Will came on again. “What were you dreaming about?” Mike paused. What  _ was  _ he dreaming about?  _ Will _ . He startled at the answer, the briefest snippet of a dream coming back to him. He remembered Will was there, in a surreal, heavenly glow. His hair had shined and his lips were glossy, red. Nose scrunched as he smiled and tossed his head back and laughed. Mike realized Will expected some kind of response, and too confused to think of anything else to say, he blurted out, “You.”

Will’s laugh rang through the line, a shy giggle. Mike, a healthy shade of red, finished putting on his clothes and waited until Will was done. “I’m coming over, okay?” he said, hoping his voice didn’t sound as strange to Will as it did to him.

“But I’m already asleep,” Will replied. Mike’s mouth twisted at the loopy response. He paused momentarily. He wondered if Will maybe  _ had  _ just missed him, wondering if he maybe shouldn’t disturb him. There were nights where Mike missed him too. Often just before he’d fall asleep, Will would pop into his head. Sometimes he would feel warm and content, thinking about all the things they did that day. Other times he’d long to speak to Will, to see him. Mike was only a little embarrassed that he kept a stack of Will’s drawings underneath his bed for those lonely nights.

Mike glanced back at his clock. Ten minutes had passed. He hesitated, then reached for the door handle.

After a clumsy bike ride (where every few seconds the faintest noise would make him stop abruptly, searching for its source) Mike passed Mirkwood. He abandoned his bike on the side of the road, off in the grass. Riding into the driveway was sure to alert someone. Mike could just picture Lonnie, with his red eyes and his beer gut, stumbling out of the house, yelling incoherently. He had seen it happen before. Just the thought sent a chill down his spine.

Mike approached the house, figure hunched, footsteps steady and soft. He rounded the side to look for Will’s window. Ears tuned for any suspicious sounds. But none came. Everyone in the Byers’ house was seemingly asleep. Besides Mike and his anxious, scattered breaths, the only sound he could hear was the distant chirping of midnight crickets.

Still slow and cautious, Mike reached Will’s window. Put his hands against the glass and peered inside. Will’s bed was flat, nobody to be seen. His desk chair was empty. His lights were off. And his walkie-talkie was out of sight. Mike sighed, turned to look in the general direction of Castle Byers. Started walking to his new destination.

Walking through the woods was instinct now. How long had it been since Mike and Will were twelve, with knobby elbows and painfully young faces? When had they last spent nights in Castle Byers, gushing over  _ Star Wars _ and whispering about their parents? Mike knew his way through even in the dark. His memories guided him.

It was only a minute or two before he spotted it. In the shadowed woods, the light was a beacon. Castle Byers. Mike took a moment to smooth his hands over his hair, trying to tame the frizz. The idea of barging in on Will with messy hair and sloppy clothes made him anxious.

Mike pulled back the curtain to the structure slowly, expecting Will to shout out a  _ no  _ at any second. But after he peeked inside, he saw Will couldn’t even if he wanted to. He was sprawled out over his mattress, stomach-down, dead-for-eight-hours asleep. He had even passed out in his clothes. 

Mike peered around the room, surprised at what he saw. A staggeringly high pile of crumpled beer cans sat heaped next to Will’s mattress. Will’s sketchbook, his pride and joy, had been tossed carelessly into the corner. All of the pages were missing, torn out violently. He now understood why Will had sounded so strange over the walkie. Mike cleared his throat.

Will gasped, startled. His eyes flew around the area before they settled on Mike. He looked puzzled. “What are you doing here?” he hissed, words rushed and unclear.

Mike gaped. Face-down, asleep, Will’s face had been obscured. Now in the dim glow of the lamplight, Mike could make it out. Deep bruising, green and purple blossoms covering Will’s right eye. The skin was swollen, only a thin slit of his eye visible. “Will?” Mike breathed, already moving forward, quick and decisive. “Will, are you okay? What happened?” 

Will swallowed, looked away from Mike, trying to cover his face. He quietly mumbled something to himself as he sat upright. He moved slowly, as if his limbs were made of lead. Mike caught him wincing.

He sat next to Will, haltingly, as if he was a battered animal that might attack. Will still faced away from him, even as Mike repeated, whispering, “What happened?”

Will shrugged, toying with the end of his jacket. “Just you know… My dad…”

Mike swallowed. “Will, fuck, I’m sorry. I should’ve been there, known, I don’t know. I— are you all right? Are you okay? You look like you’re in pain.”

He brushed a hand up to his eyes, finally looking back at Mike. “Oh, this? No, it’s fine. I don’t really even feel it. I had so many…” Will gestured toward the beer cans, slurring, “I don’t even feel it anymore.”

“I don’t like it when you drink,” Mike said. Will nodded.

“I know.” Sighed. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t keep doing this.” His voice shook.

“Doing what?” Mike asked.

“This!” Will half-shouted, eyes glistening. “I can’t keep living like this. I can’t keep getting yelled at and hit every time I fuck up. I’m so tired of it. I just can’t.” He rubbed angrily at a stray tear. 

Mike slid his arm around Will’s shoulder. “Hey,” he said softly, waiting for Will, red-eyed and puffy-face, to look back up at him. “Will, you’re going to get out of this. It’s okay. All right? You’ll make it out.”

Another tear slipped down Will’s cheek. He didn’t bother to wipe it. “I don’t know,” Will said. “If I can’t get out soon… I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Mike brought a hand up to Will’s face, brushing at the wet tears on his cheeks. “I’m here for you,” he said, voice low and sincere. His fingers twitched against Will’s skin. “I’m here,” he repeated.

Will smiled. A small, sad smile, but enough of one to make the tightness in Mike’s chest subside. 

For a few seconds they stared intently at each other, with Mike’s hand on Will’s cheek, each with their lips poised to say something. But neither did. Eventually, after Mike had pulled away and Will had stopped crying, Will fell asleep and Mike biked away. Will was on his mind the whole way back. His bruised eye, the urgency in his voice, the ripped sketchbook. He wondered if Will would remember any of it the next morning. If they would ever talk about that night.

They wouldn’t.

* * *

_ Mike’s fingers fumble with his tie. He’s face-to-face with his own reflection. His bloated, miserable, frog-faced reflection. His hands shake, preventing him from getting a firm grasp. His room is lifeless, clean. Not a piece of clutter in sight. The area is filled with gray light, rushing in from past his window. It’s raining outside. Even the weather knows today is a day for mourning. _

_ A small rap sounds on his door. One knock, two knocks, three. His mother. His father would have opened the door first, and asked to come in second. _

_ “Honey?” she says from the otherside.  _

_ Mike mumbles her invitation, and she peeks in through the door. Like him, she’s dressed in all black. A dress, heels, and tights. Her hair in a conservative bun. She watches for a moment as Mike continues to mess with his tie. She closes the door before walking to his side, sighing softly as she grabs ahold of the pesky fabric. _

_ Fingers tugging and pulling. The soft pit-pat of the rain slapping the window. His mother’s slightly-off eyeliner. Mike can distract himself from the pit in his stomach. He can pretend he’s okay. _

_ His mother finishes the tie’s knot, a satisfactory smile on her face. “You look so handsome,” she says, brushing her hands over his shoulders. Looking up at him, at how tall he’s grown. So much taller than her. But Mike feels so small.  _

_ Taking a step back, she looks around the room, at the vacantness of it. “Wow,” she says, her voice chipper and high. Fake. “You really cleaned this place up.” _

_ “Will helped,” Mike mumbles, and the words sound so pathetic in his mouth that he just about cries. _

* * *

Mike and Will were at the quarry again, against the edge of the cliff, peering down into the blue water below. The sky above them was cloudy, tall heaps of fluffy white omitting some of the sun’s warm gaze. A slight chill had formed in the air. 

Sitting criss-crossed on the dusty ground, the only barrier between the two was a small box of knick-knacks Mike brought, and a roll of his mother’s tin foil. Will also brought some miscellaneous items, though his pile was significantly smaller, mostly consisting of failed art projects and abandoned sketches. 

Mike’s mother had spent the week nagging him. Urging him to do some belated spring cleaning, throw away the trash in his room. Mike imagined, staring at the tin foil ball diving into the water, that his mother intended for his things to go to charity. The garbage, even. But Mike and Will had formed better plans. Throwing their odds-and-ends into the water. Like they were sixth-graders again, wondering how many seconds it took before they heard a splash. Wrapping the objects in sturdy layers of his mother’s tin foil, Will’s idea. He had a hypothesis that the items would be safe from the water in the tin. Like messages in bottles, rocking to shore. It was for science. Definitely.

Mike caught a brief glimpse of Will starring at him, and a smile crept on his face. “What?”

“Nothing.” Will tore a piece of the foil, and when prompted, handed a piece to Mike. Mike grabbed the next item from his box of discarded memories: Rory, a dinosaur. A nostalgic feeling swept over him as he thumbed the toy. 

Will continued his wrapping, staring at his handiwork. He was neater with it, like everything else. He packed his items with care, as if to preserve them. Almost pretending they weren’t dropping over two-hundred feet. Suddenly, he cleared his throat. Spoke up, still looking away from Mike. “It’s so high up here.”

Mike looked from Rory to Will. “You want to head lower?”

“No, no. I was just thinking.” He smoothed his fingers over the foil. “It would be so cool to jump from up here. These don’t fall for very long. Can you imagine how fast we’d go?”

Mike started putting the tin foil over Rory’s face and then, sadly, the thought of “suffocating” Rory with the tin seemed too bleak. He switched to swathing the toy’s leg. “You can’t swim,” Mike replied, gradually working the foil over Rory’s body. “And if you jumped from up here, you’d probably die.”

Will frowned. “Oh.” He tossed his object, shiny and wrinkled, dramatically, watching as it arched in the air. Mike looked up with vague amusement.

“What one was that?” Mike tore the piece of foil around Rory’s neck, ensuring his face would stay exposed. “Another drawing you won’t let me see?”

Will looked down, embarrassed. “Shut up,” he said playfully, rolling his eyes. “I don’t want you to see them because they’re bad. And anyway, it wasn’t. It was that stupid toy car I made.”

Mike paused. “The one we raced?”

“Yeah.” Will hugged his knees, tilted his head. “That’s okay, right? I didn’t think I needed it.”

“But you spent so long on it,” Mike groaned, peeking at the water below. 

Will shrugged, rubbing his hands over his knees. “Not that long. Some of these drawings I spent hours on.”

Mike straightened suddenly. “Then— then why have you been throwing them away?”

Will shrugged again. “A few hours isn’t that long. I don’t know. They aren’t that good; it doesn’t matter.”

Mike refrained from frowning, instead turning back to the toy in his hands. He looked at Rory, now up to his neck in foil, with a weak sort of sadness. How long had it been since middle school? It felt like forever ago when Will and Mike were short sixth-graders, sitting in this exact spot, tossing rocks and counting the seconds until they splashed. Giggling into each other's necks, betting how far they each could throw. So young they didn’t realize how close to the edge they were.

Mike tossed the toy, mumbling a half-assed goodbye under his breath. Counting the seconds until he saw it hit the water.  _ One… Two… Three… _

Will had a soft smile on his face, watching the toy’s departure. “I feel so old,” he said.

Mike chuckled. “I know exactly how you feel.”

“There’s so many things I haven’t done yet. Things that I should have done by now.”

“Like what? We’re just teenagers.” Mike gave a weak laugh.

Will sighed. “Michalengelo was painting at my age. Like, really good. Better than me.”

“Really well,” Mike mumbled absentmindedly, turning his body towards Will. Will looked pensive, with tight shoulders and a stiff posture. His mouth was quirked into a small frown, eyes stormy as he gazed down into the water below. Mike gave him a sympathetic smile. “Will, you can’t compare yourself to Michaelangelo. You’ll go crazy if you do. And besides, you’re totally better than him.” Will laughed, and the sound brightened Mike up. “See? You agree. What else haven’t you done that’s  _ so  _ disappointing?”

Will hugged his knees closer, shrugging again. “I mean, I haven’t even—” He stopped, suddenly going bashful.

Mike leaned in closer, interested. “What?”

“I haven’t even kissed anyone.” He gave an awkward chuckle after, avoiding Mike’s eyes. Cheeks pink. “Sorry,” he mumbled quietly.

Mike went rigid. “You haven’t kissed anyone?”

Will shook his head, looking down at his shoes. “Not yet.”

“Not even Jennifer Hayes?”

Will’s face twisted. “Jennifer Hayes? Why would I…? What’s your deal with her, anyway?”

“My deal with her?” Mike blinked. “I don’t have any.”

“Really? Because you’re always bringing her up.” Will sighed. “I wouldn’t date her. I don’t— why would you think I’d kiss her?”

“Because she has a crush on you,” Mike blurted. Will’s eyes widened, face frozen as the wind tickled his hair. Mike turned a little red, realizing how blunt he sounded.

But it was the truth in Mike’s eyes. The school year before, it seemed Will and Mike would never get girlfriends. Dustin and Lucas were already slowly becoming obsessed with their partners, while Will and Mike watched uncomfortably on the sidelines. And then the impossible happened. Jennifer Hayes —blonde bombshell, cheerleading victor, mini-skirt wearing Jennifer Hayes— had sauntered up to Will and sunk her nails into him. In between classes, Mike would see her parked outside Will’s locker. Giggling together before lunch. Passing notes in class, sometimes. Mike wasn’t stupid. Out of all the cheerleaders, she was the most likely to date one of the party. She was into the artsy types; the year before she had dated the theater’s set painter, Drew. And it made sense for Will to like her back. She was  _ Jennifer Hayes. _ Who didn’t like Jennifer Hayes? Mike anticipated everyday for Will to announce that he had joined Dustin and Lucas’ inner circle, that he had obtained the impossible, that he had gotten a girlfriend. But the day never arrived. And Mike just let the uneasy feeling simmer, thinking that if there were some things Will wanted to keep private, he would respect that.

Will, still startled by Mike’s statement, remained silent for a few long moments. After the stretch of silence, he shook his head lightly, saying, “I don’t know how you’d even know that, Mike.”

Mike made broad gestures with his hands, helpless. “She talked to you, like, all the time. And stared at you. It was so obvious.”

“You talk to me. You stare at me,” Will said, clearly annoyed. “And you don’t have a crush on me, so…”

A small shiver went down Mike’s spine. “That’s different. We’re guys.”

Will rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know, Mike.” He turned back to look at the water. 

But Mike didn’t look away. He was staring at Will, thinking. About Jennifer Hayes, and her rubbery lips and her fish-like eyes. The yellowy-blonde of her hair, the wan look in her skin. The crooked teeth in her smile.

A frustrated sigh escaped him. She was nothing like that, and he knew it. She was  _ Jennifer Hayes. _ She had porcelain skin, ruby-red lips, and her hair was shiny gold. Her smile was perfect. Her eyes, although a little too far apart, were otherwise spectacularly average. She was pretty. Beautiful, even. Mike should have wanted her. Will should have wanted her. And yet they neither of them were seeking her out. They were instead with each other.

Will glanced back at Mike, quirking a brow. “See? You’re doing it again.” He held his knees close.

“What?” Mike averted his eyes.

“Staring at me.” Will rubbed the back of his neck, looking away, too. “I don’t know why you’re so hung up on Jennifer Hayes. If you want to date her that badly, then just do it.”

“I don’t want to date her,” Mike said quickly.

“Why not?” Will snapped.

“W-well,” Mike stammered, “I don’t even know her.”

“Right.”

“And she isn’t even that pretty, anyway. Blondes are overrated.”

Will shrugged. A few seconds of silence passed. And then: “Maybe I should have kissed her.” Mike looked up at that, hearing something painful buried in his words.

“Well. Why didn’t you?” Mike’s hands had wrung themselves together.

Will shrugged again. Looking away from Mike. Into the water. “I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to kiss her. I think I’ll die before I kiss a girl.”

Mike frowned. “Don’t say that, Will. It’ll happen sometime.”

Will looked back at him slowly, dragging his eyes away from the water like it was a chore. “Mike, I don’t want to.”

“Want to what?” He cocked his head to the side.

“I don’t want to kiss a girl,” Will said. His voice wavered only slightly, strong and flat. But his eyes looked shiny, wet. 

Something clicked in Mike’s head. Eighth grade gym and staring into the lockers like it was a hypnotist’s watch. Ignoring boy’s exposed skin just inches away. Will and Mike, always. Will and Mike watching as Lucas and Dustin  _ oohed  _ and  _ aahed  _ at their dad’s  _ Playboys _ . Puzzled, confused, trying to figure out why they didn’t  _ get  _ it. The last to get girlfriends. The only ones of the party to have never been kissed.

A twisted, nauseous feeling swept over Mike’s guts. Puzzle pieces were locking into place, securing themselves, painting a picture Mike refused to see. Will was staring, his face reddened and his brows furrowed, anxious. His hands were gripping his knees.

Mike shook his head, lightly, as if he could make his thoughts fall out. He tried to speak, but decided to clear his throat when the words came out strained. Again, he tried. Will hung on to his every word with rapt attention.

“Let’s just…” Mike looked down at their belongings, mis-matched, scattered things. He gestured to them loosely, unable to bring himself to look at Will. “... continue this, okay?”

Will bit his lip. “So you’re not mad?”

Mike grabbed another toy from his collection, tearing a piece of foil to bury it in. “No,” he said. But Will watched as he wound his arms quickly over the object, sloppily. Shoulders squared and face hidden behind a sheet of curls. After a moment he half-heartedly threw the thing into the water below. 

Will shivered, then started to crumple one of his drawings into a ball. The silence between them was deafening. The only noises were the abrasive crinkling of tin foil, and the soft, under-the-breath mumblings of them counting as their objects soared through the air. Like they were kids again, before Jennifer Hayes and locker rooms and girlfriends.

* * *

_ Mike is at lunch when she comes over. Dustin is trying weakly to cheer him up, telling some corny knock-knock jokes. Lucas is pensive. Their girlfriends are at a different, all-girls table today. Something about Dustin and Lucas ditching them to pout at Mike eats him up. _

_ He’s poking his food with his fork, the lunch greasy and ugly. Out of the corner-of-his eye he can see the intruding figure, someone tan and dressed in pink. At first he thinks she’s going to her usual seat. Then she’s inches away from him, calling his name. “Mike?” _

_ Dustin gapes, his pudding forgotten. Lucas is even distracted, staring up at her.  _

_ She asks if he’ll follow her, and he agrees, abandoning his untouched lunch and his starring friends. They’re at the water fountains, seperate from the rest of the cafeteria. The background talk a blur. Her eyes are blue and red-rimmed, mascara clumpy.  _

_ “I wanted to say,” she says, blinking rapidly, “that I’m sorry for your loss. And if you need anything, I’m here for you.” _

I’m here for you. _ There it is again. The words sound so hollow. Did Will think that when Mike said them? _

_ Mike nods, does the avoiding-eye-contact routine. She’s sympathetic, giving him a hug before she turns away, her vanilla and sugar perfume lingering in the air. That’s when something clicks, and Mike call out, “Jennifer,” before she’s too far in the lunch throng for her to hear him. She turns, brows furrowed. “Did Will ever kiss you?” he asks, and the words sound silly and possessive, and a tad bit nosy. But he can’t help himself. His head is buzzing. _

_ She shakes her head, embarrassed. “I was his friend.” _

So was I, _ Mike thinks bitterly. _

* * *

Mike paced in front of the telephone, glaring at the inanimate object. Hands twisting and untwisting themselves in his thin sweater. He hadn’t spoken to Will since their talk at the quarry, over a week ago. Since then he had been plagued by his thoughts. Wondering if Will hated him, if he hated Will. What exactly he was feeling, and why. It was easy enough most days to convince himself he was fine. But around noon, every day, he would feel an itchy feeling. An impulse to bike to Will’s and find something silly to do. Close together in the castle, or enjoying the breeze at the quarry. Huddled together in his basement. Inches apart in Will’s room.

But today he decided he was going to call Will, and just the thought made him nervous. He didn’t know why. He had been phoning Will since they could walk. Calling him was just as natural as sleeping. And even the times when they hadn’t spoken, when Mike was busy with classes or Will needed time for himself, there was an unsaid agreement they both understood. That they respected each other's space and would pick up the moment the other called.

But now, he wasn’t sure Will would pick up. The words were echoing inside his head every still moment of the day. Brushing his teeth, eating alone, just before he fell asleep. He could picture Will’s nervous face, the words ringing in his ears.  _ I don’t want to kiss girls. _ What did that mean? Mike sighed. He knew exactly what it meant. He just couldn’t tell how he felt about it.

Will was always near him. His pictures under Mike’s bed, the walkie-talkie on all night in case he called, his scent (pine and lemon and cheap soap) on Mike’s clothes. He had been twisting those words in his head, thinking about them in every possible context. And in some ways, they made him giddy. Excited, nervous in a butterflies-scratching-at-your-throat kind of way. The same rush of euphoria he got when he’d think about Will’s smile, or his voice, or the pictures under his bed, the alive walkie-talkie, the permanent scent of him. And then he felt disgusted, ashamed. At himself, at Will. Angry, that Will had the opportunity to do the right thing, to kiss Jennifer Hayes and be normal and pretend that Mike didn’t exist. Mike would have done the same thing if he could have.

He froze, mid-pace. Would he have? Would he have thrown Will away like an old toy? Over the cliff, out of his sight, for the chance to play make-believe with Lucas and Dustin? Were Lucas and Dustin just doing that? Make-believe? Did they feel the same way Mike did, the same way Will confessed to? Maybe it was normal. Maybe most teenage boys felt like this. Maybe liking girls was a chore, an initiation into adulthood.

He walked over to the phone, determined. Swallowing the rhythm of his heartbeat. For a few moments after he punched in Will’s number, the only sound he could hear was his own breathing, short and sporadic. And then the line clicked.

Holding his breath, he waited for the other person to speak first. If it was Lonnie, Mike would have to hang up. The few times he had called and Lonnie answered were uncomfortable, to say the least.

“Hello-o?” he heard after a moment. “Byers residence.”

“Will,” he sighed, already smiling. “I thought maybe your dad had answered.”

A shifting sound from the otherside. Then, surprised, “Mike?”

Mike nodded, oblivious to the fact that Will couldn’t see him. He pressed himself closer to the phone, as if he could feel Will through the line. “Hi,” he said shyly. 

“I didn’t think you were going to call,” Will admitted after a moment, voice tender and vulnerable. Then, shortly, he added, “My dad will be home any minute. You better make it quick.”

“Yeah,” Mike said, twisting his fingers in the telephone cord. “I should have called sooner. But I was thinking.”

“About?”

Mike glanced around the kitchen. “Well… about what you said.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “About not wanting to kiss girls. And. I’m sorry I freaked out, okay? I didn’t mean to. I mean…” _ I understand exactly how you feel. _ “...you’re my best friend, and I love you no matter what.”

Silence. Mike would have been convinced that Will abandoned the phone, if not for the faint breathing he heard through the line. He wondered briefly what Will looked like. Pensive? Worried? Angry? Was his hair slightly too long? His skin still pale from sunscreen? Was he bruised? Scratched? Hurt?

“Will,” Mike said after a moment. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” Will replied, quiet. Mike could hear his smile. “Thanks, Mike.”

He smiled to himself, shrugging, as if he hadn’t spent the last few hours thinking of saying those words. “No problem, Will.”

“I have to go now. My dad’s pulling in. But give me a call some other time, okay?”

Mike tried to subdue his grin. “Okay. Bye.”

“Goodbye.”

Mike set the phone back on its reciever, practically bouncing. Relieved, with his nerves still jumping from the talk. His mother strode into the kitchen, looking distractedly in a cookbook. She smiled knowingly when she noticed Mike. 

“Give Will a call?” she asked, a brow quirked.

Mike’s heart stopped momentarily. Did she hear? 

He decided to play it off, shrugging nonchalantly. “Yeah,” he said, “No big deal.”

She nodded, looking back to her book. Mike’s heart started to work again. He turned for the doorway briskly, only stopping when she called his name.

“Oh, I don’t suppose you know where all my tin foil went, do you?”

Mike kept walking. “No idea.”

* * *

_ It’s dark out, and Mike is in bed, awake. His hand grasping between his thighs, tugging with a rhythm. Skin wet with sweat, face red, lips bitten. Any sounds he makes are blocked by the back of his hand.  _

_ He’s thinking of Will, again. He’s thinking of Will, as if he’s next to him. Hazel eyes burning back into his. A small smirk on his lips. On his shiny, wet lips. _

_ “Can I help?” Mike imagines he asks, his voice low and seductive. He’s wearing the same thing he did that day: a gray t-shirt, a loose red flannel, and tight blue jeans. _

_ A hand reaching between the two of them, Will grasps Mike, leans forward and kisses him. Fully, sweetly. Mike imagines that just for a moment he can smell Will again, taste him. Feel him. He thinks of this with his eyes closed and his hand jerking and his mouth a small O. _

_ Half-way through, his eyes pop open, and the truth hits him. Not just that Will isn’t here, and he’ll never be here again. That’s he sick. Twisted to think of Will like this. It had been weeks since Mike had even thought of anything sexual. Tonight had been the first in a long time, and he had jumped at the opportunity. But now shame is flooding him. His hand stills beneath his blanket. _

_ His brain floods with images he can barely stomach. Will, bloated and blue. His limbs rubbery from the shattering of his bones. Maggots chewing at his eyes, alcohol seeping from his lips. The buzz of flies sucking at his cold skin. Fish nibbling at his toes. The thought dampens any fire in him. It’s a self-punishing thought. _

_ It’s pathetic, really. Mike would still look at Will, even if he was bloated and blue and rotting. He just wants to see him.  _

* * *

Mike approached Castle Byers, enjoying the satisfying crunch of leaves he made while walking. It was still summer. The sun was still shining and the birds continued to chirp birdsong. But just barely. Even in a sweater, Mike could feel the Autumn chill settling over Hawkins. The trees were shedding leaves in response, dropping yellow intruders amongst their green bunches. Flies, a common nuisance on soda can rims and sticky skin, had seemingly died out overnight.

The castle was the same from the outside. But the inside had changed dramatically, Mike realized as he pushed past the curtain doorway. Before it had been messy, disorganized. Pictures taped to the walls, magazines strewn carelessly. The fragrance of cheap liquor in the air, and art supplies on the ground. Now it was clean. More than clean. Almost empty. The walls were bare, every picture ripped away. Most of Will’s books had gone missing, only a conservative stack by his bed remained. And his art supplies was tucked away in a corner, a thin layer of dust covering them. Not everything had changed, however. Mike could still smell alcohol, although he couldn’t spot any. Will’s mattress was, as usual, piled high with various throw blankets and pillows. Paint splatters in an array of colors remained stuck to the walls.

Will, who was lazily flipping through a comic, lying on his bed, gave Mike a small nod as he came in.

“Hey,” Mike said. “What happened to everything?”

“Hmm?” Will looked up, around. “Oh, I’m redecorating. Actually, I have something for you.”

“Really?” Mike rubbed his hands together, walking over to the mattress. Will began to dig through a bookbag as Mike sat down next to him.

“It’s nothing special,” Will mumbled, pulling a piece of thick paper out. “But here. Maybe it will give you better dreams?”

He handed the paper over hesitantly, watching closely as Mike looked it over. A smile bled onto Mike’s face. The picture was a pastel drawing of a fish, like the one he had seen on the wall before. But this one was colored, and neater. The background was a mix of several shades of blue blended together seamlessly. The fish itself was red, yellow, and green. Its enormous eyes stared up at Mike.

“Will,” he said, punctuating his words with his hand on Will’s knee, “Will, this is amazing. It’s perfect.”

Will shrugged, trying to bite back his smile. “Oh, I don’t know…”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Yes you do. This is literally the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

Will quirked a brow. “You’re saying a picture is better than an Atari?”

“Well…” Mike gave a small laugh. “Okay, then it’s a close second.”

Will shifted his leg, the same one Mike realized his hand was still planted on. He pulled it back quickly, muttering an apology as his face reddened. Will just shrugged in response.

“What were you thinking of doing today?” Will asked.

Mike set the picture aside carefully, peering around the empty space. His eyes landed back on Will. He was dressed in a loose flannel and jeans, his chilly weather attire. His hair was slightly too long, bangs brushing his eyebrows. Skin still pale, with beauty marks dotting his neck. Smudges of pastels on his hands. Mike swallowed when his eyes lingered on the pink of Will’s lips. He shook his head lightly, looking away. “I don’t know,” Mike said, combing a hand through his hair. “I can’t think of anything.”

“Hmm.” Will pulled his bottom lip through his teeth, thinking. Mike’s eyes followed the motion. 

“We could always just stay here,” he said, throat suddenly dry. Will released his bottom lip, shiny and rosy.

He tilted his head. “And talk? Or…?”

_ Or…? _

Mike barely registered the last question, instead focusing on Will as he pulled a knee up to his body. Will always had a habit of doing that, he recalled. Since grade school. But he had changed so much since then. His legs seemed to stretch on for miles now.

“You’re staring,” Will said quietly, almost embarrassed.

“Sorry,” Mike muttered, for the second time that day. “I was just thinking.”

“About?” 

“You,” he admitted after a moment. Then, stammering, “I mean, how much you’ve changed.”

“For the better?” Will propped his head up with his hand, elbow to his knee.

“Well, yeah, of course,” Mike said. His tongue felt thick. “For the better, yeah.”

“Hmm,” Will hummed, pulling his hand back from his face. A small streak of blue stuck to his cheek, the result of Will’s dirty hands.

“You have…” Mike motioned to his cheek.

“Oh, here?” Will touched his face, a blue thumbprint following.

Mike snorted. “No, you’re just making it worse. Here.” He reached out, rubbing his thumb across Will’s cheek. Some of the residue followed, but a significant mark remained. Mike rubbed again, with the back of his hand, focused.

“Mike,” Will said suddenly, voice low. Mike blinked back, looking into the hazel of his eyes. Realizing how close they were. His hand stilled on Will’s cheeking, burning a whole there. And then a thought popped into his head.  _ What if I don’t pull back? _

_ Don’t pull back. _

He didn’t. He moved forward, not entirely knowing why. Just knowing it felt right. That reeling in closer and closer to Will and his warmth made sense. Will was staring at him, doe eyes wide. Lips pursed with words frozen just past the skin. Mike’s heart was hammering, staring right back at Will. Pushing himself further, Mike came impossibly close. Then Will closed the gap.

Warmth flooded his body. Warmth from Will’s jeans, his knee pressing against Mike’s. Warmth from the blush spreading down his face and neck. Warmth from his lips, motionless against the curve of Will’s.

His heart was still hammering, the beat pounding against his ears. He remained stiff, unsure of what to do. Mike had never kissed anyone before. He had come close with the neighbor girl, Mary Blackburn. In her backyard, under a maple tree, trying to do geometry. She had done the same as him. She put a hand against him, on his thigh, and she leaned in with her eyes closed comically tight. Mike had dodged her kiss, and for the rest of the year math class had been awkward. 

He tried putting his hand on Will’s thigh. With his eyes closed, he estimated as best as he could. His fingers ended up wrapping Will’s hipbone. Will, in return, moved his lips. A tingling feeling hummed through Mike. Like a mirror, he did the same. Brushing his lips open and closed. 

They were kissing slow, sincere. Dipping toes in the water. Will carded his hand through Mike’s frizzy hair, Mike ran a hand along Will’s neck. Both unintentionally teasing the other, with their hesitant fumblings and their soft touches. 

At one point, Will tugged on a lock of Mike’s hair. The feeling sent a jolt through his body, a soft sound escaping his lips. Before he could be embarrassed, Will did it again. And again, and again. Suddenly, an eager feeling swept over him. Like a child discovering hidden Christmas presents, Mike started to realize there was more beneath the surface. Like how Will’s bottom lip trembled when his fingers slipped just under his T-shirt. Or how a heat pooled in his stomach when Will pulled his body flush with his.

They were kissing faster then, passionate and rushed. Clashing their lips over and over as their hands roamed further, exploring the dips and curves of each other’s bodies. Mike’s hand crept further up Will’s shirt, feeling the warm flesh of Will’s stomach. And Will’s hand pulled Mike even closer into him, as he started to lay back on the mattress. Soon Will was completely against the blankets, his head propped up by a pillow. Mike was still flush with him, body snuggled between the valley of Will’s legs.

Mike was surprised at how aware he was of everything with his eyes closed. He could feel the rise and fall of Will’s chest against his, hear his scattered breathing. The soft gasps Will made when Mike’s hands touched new, unexplored areas of skin filled his ears. The scent of Will, pine and lemon and cheap soap, was everywhere. He could even taste him, sugar with the bite of beer. He was melting with Will, feeling him completely. Knowing the same shivering passion, the same hesitant lust. 

Will untangled a hand from Mike’s dark curls, trailing it down his side. His eyes fluttered the slightest when Will dipped the hand under his sweater, rubbing against his skin. The sensation was almost overwhelming. Mike felt his body get excited at the motion, and that’s when he pulled off Will’s lips with a groan.

Will looked up at him with furrowed brows. His skin was ruddy with a sheer layer of sweat, his lips swollen and red. His hair had formed a halo against the pillow. Will’s flannel had flapped open at some point, and Mike watched the rapid rise and fall of his chest. “Something wrong?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.

Mike could only imagine how red he was. Still hovering above Will, Mike stuttered nervously. “I’m like,  _ really  _ liking this.”

Will smiled softly. “So am I,” he said between breaths.

“No, like  _ really  _ liking it.”

Will gave a puzzled expression, then a small,  _ “Oh,” _ when his eyes dropped to Mike’s pants. 

“Don’t look at it!” he sputtered, reaching a new shade of red. 

Will bit his lip, trying to stop smiling. He gave a gentle eye roll. “So am I,” he repeated.

Mike’s chest tightened. “Really?” he asked slowly, using all of his strength to keep his eyes focused on Will’s face.

Will nodded, tracing a hand over Mike’s thigh. “Kiss me again.”

Mike complied, reaching downward slowly, afraid to brush too much of his body against Will. But Will was more demanding, using the closeness to pull Mike closer, to let his hands wander Mike’s skin. Emboldened by Will, Mike started to experiment with his touches. Letting a hand graze Will’s nipple, another tracing the curve of Will’s backside. Will responded with nothing more than a light gasp and tighter grip. But Mike went even further, experimentally tracing his lips down Will. Planting kisses over his jaw, down to the soft skin of his neck. Sucking lightly on the honeyed skin at the junction of Will’s shoulder. Will’s hands stuttered. His mouth parted, and a breathy moan followed. 

Will shifted his body, pushing upwards slightly. Enough for Mike to feel Will, all of Will, through his clothed body. The feeling of their bodies rubbing against each other was so good, so breath-in-the-back-of-your-throat pleasurable that Mike’s hips involuntarily twitched, snapping forward, repeating Will’s action. Thrusting against Will, he heard in the shell of his ear the distinct smack of Will’s lips, followed by his voice, strained and breathy: “More.”

All Mike could do was nod weakly, head still buried in Will’s neck. Hips rushing to meet hips, fabric colliding with fabric. Rubbing and panting in each other’s ear. Getting higher and higher, stomach flooding with warmth, burning. Mike could hear Will mewl and whine softly, and the noises only added to the mounting feeling inside him.

In the moment, it seemed almost like a natural progression. That their friendship was always going to amount to this. At some point during the years, his feeling towards Will had evolved. But when? Maybe it was the sixth grade, when Will had first said  _ I love you _ on the phone, adding quickly  _ as a friend.  _ Maybe it was that same night when Mike had repeated Will’s words directly, and had stayed up half the night giddy without knowing why. Maybe it was the eighth grade, when they both stopped saying  _ as a friend _ . Or maybe it was only a few weeks ago, when Mike had stared at Will licking ice cream, his mind buzzing with the distinct feeling of guilt without knowing why. Maybe it was the day at the quarry, when he started to piece together what Will had said and what he had thought. The phone conversation, even. Perhaps it was that morning.

Or maybe it had just been building, with words and laughter and small touches. Building like the feeling Mike had at that moment, his body moving rhythmically against Will’s. Hips shifting to find the spot that made his body shiver and his toes curl. Will moaned at the contact with Mike, his hands gripping Mike harshly. Pulling him down, down, down, searching for any scrap of heat he could get. Will’s voice was once again in his ear, chanting Mike’s name like a prayer. The feeling stacked. Stroked upon stroke, touch by touch. Mike was getting closer, hips snapping harder against Will’s. 

And then it happened. The feeling overflowed, tightening in Mike’s belly as the blissful warmth surged through his veins. Will gave a strangled cry, his body thrusting up a few more times meekly, before slumping. Mike, sticky with sweat, started to untangle himself from Will, falling beside him on the cramped mattress. His drawers were wet, and already uncomfortable. But his body, still heaving with ragged breaths, was quickly becoming exhausted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Will breathing harshly.

Mike weakly propped himself up on his elbow. “Did you…?”

Will nodded wordlessly, staring up at the roof. Sunlight peeked through the walls, a single stream highlighting Will’s cheek. Mike was surprised to notice streaks of tears down them. Will had been crying.

Mike sat up further, brows knit. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

Will looked confused. He brushed his hand across his cheek, checking the wetness on his palm. “I was crying?” he muttered to himself.

Mike shook his head, too tired to think any more. He fell back against the mattress, head swimming. Trying to ignore what had just happened, what it meant for the future. Only focusing on the blackness behind his eyelids and the weight in his bones.

As he laid there, eyes closed, on the verge of sleep, he heard Will whisper, “Mike?” And then, even quieter, “I still love you.”

But Mike didn’t respond. He just fell asleep.

* * *

  
  


_ Mike is at the quarry, at night, where nobody can see him cry. Since the incident, people have been frequenting his spot. Will’s spot. _

_ He’s down on the ground, with the water just inches from his shoes. Shivering from the cold. He can smell the water, its crisp tang. See the moonlight reflecting in it. _

_ He wonders how Will felt falling. If he jumped. That’s the big question, right? Did Will jump? The police found an empty six pack on the cliff. Beers floating in the water. Some people say he knew what he was doing. Some think he stumbled from the alcohol. Most don’t care. _

_ It’s bubblegum talk. The kind of conversation you have by the water cooler, or when someone asks for a piece of your cinnamon chew. How’s the weather? Fine. Your kids? Okay. Heard they’re showing such-and-such down at the theater. Oh yeah? _

_ Hey, you heard about the kid who fell in the quarry? _

_ Will is bubblegum talk. _

_ Mike is staring ahead, watching the water’s gentle breaths. Staring, as if it will make Will come back. He wonders if he’ll see any fish jump.  _

_ And then he sees something. Something shiny, round. His breath is caught in his throat. His feet are moving forward, squishing as water floods them. He can see it in the distance. A tin ball. Will’s tin ball. _

_ He knows what it is. He’s sure of it. Will was chucking drawings, wrapping them tightly so that they could one day end up on the ground, discovered. His objects were the only ones that would float.  _

_ He moves forward. Water climbing up his pants, his sweater. To his neck. Swimming loud and obnoxious in the silent night. Scaring away any stray fish.  _

_ The water is cold. So cold his fingertips are swelling cherry red, his breath puffs of white. His hair is grazing the water, the ends of his curls thickening. Did Will survive the fall? Did he drown? Did he feel cold and confused and scared like Mike does right now? _

_ He reaches it, grasping the bobbing object. Holding it up in the moonlight, legs thrashing underwater, he can finally see what it is. A soda can. A fucking soda can. An unrelated piece of trashing, luring Mike to the middle of the quarry like a siren in a storm. Mike’s eyes fog up. His breathing hits uneven. Throwing the can, he kicks himself around, swimming back to shore. Tears still blurring his eyesight. _

_ He’s face-down on the ground soaked in quarry water, laughing. It’s true; he’s laughing. A giggle bubbles up, and soon he’s hollering into the wet sleeve of his sweater. Why he’s laughing, he’s not entirely sure. He just knows that he has to right now. He has to laugh or he’ll continue to sob, and it isn’t right for him to sob a few feet away from where Will took his last breath. _

* * *

The sky was a deep wine. The sound of cicadas filled the air. Summer was coming to an end. Mike pedalled his bike faster, rounding the road. Straining to see in the dim light. It was only a few weeks ago when the incident at Castle Byers happened. Where he and Will had kissed. Where Mike had discovered just exactly how sweet Will tasted, and how he sounded when he moaned, and how he looked beneath Mike. It was the reason why Mike mysteriously disappeared everytime he called. The reason why Mike’s walkie-talkie conveniently lacked batteries. And now the reason why he was biking to the quarry. 

The quarry was special for Mike and Will. It was one of the few places that belonged solely to them. Most places they visited —the arcade, Mike’s basement, the theater— were all places the party went together. But the quarry? He and Will owned the quarry. It was their spot, their talking spot, their how-far-can-your-voice-carry spot, their hawk-a-loogie-and-watch-it-fly spot. It was where Will had shown his bruises to Mike for the first time. Where Mike had told Will about his parent’s divorce. The same spot Will and Mike went to when they felt like hiding. From their parents, from their bullies, from the world.

He was biking there late in the evening, looking for Will. Earlier that day he had called the Byers’ house, only for Lonnie to pick up. So later he biked to the woods, looking for Will in his castle. But Will wasn’t there. The castle wasn’t there. It was decimated, a heap of sticks and paint. Nothing more than wood. A baseball discarded at its side. Mike knew Will. Knew that Hawkins was small, and that there weren't many places for him to hide. And that on a summer night, he wouldn’t be caught dead with Lonnie in the house. Lonnie drank heavily in the summer, called it seasonal depression. If Will wasn’t holed up in the woods, he was at the quarry, staring at the water. Thinking. Maybe drinking.

Mike pedalled faster, turning at the final curve. Ahead of him was their spot. Like he predicted, he saw a small silhouette sitting at the edge. Will. He didn’t turn around when Mike dropped his bike, either not noticing his presence or not caring.

Mike walked slowly, cautiously. He was only a few feet away when he spotted the pack of beer next to Will’s body. That’s when he called out to him, voice carrying in the breeze. “Mind if I sit with you?”

Will didn’t turn his head. Just shrugged. Mike took that as the sign it was, sitting softly next to Will, further apart than usual. Will still didn’t look at him. His legs were dangling freely over the edge, and that’s where Will’s eyes were looking, past his feet and into the water. The sky behind him softened his features, a purple glow dusting his cheek. The bloody sun’s angry light brushed the tips of Will’s eyelashes, his nose and lips.

Will didn’t look back at Mike until he finished the beer in his hand, tossing the can somewhere to his left. He looked at Mike with hooded, bloodshot eyes, nodding toward the half-empty pack of beers. “D’you want one?”

Mike shook his head, eyes wide as he watched Will reach for another. “You shouldn’t have that many.”

Will popped the beer open, shrugging as the can hissed. “There are a lot of things I shouldn’t do.”

“We haven’t talked in awhile,” Mike offered, voice soft like cotton. Like the situation he was commenting on was a mutual destruction, a fragile dilemma they had both dug themselves into.

Will let out a weak laugh, lazily kicking his legs over the cliff. His legs were bare, shoes and socks discarded in a pile near his bike. Mike could swear he saw bruises on Will’s calves, but it was hard to tell in the light. Maybe his eyes were deceiving him.

“You mean  _ you  _ haven’t talked to  _ me  _ in a while,” Will said. The wind blew silently, parting his bangs. “I called you.”

Mike looked away, at the sky. There was nothing he could say. He had given Will the I’m-sorry-I’ll-try-harder routine before. It wasn’t fair to Will. It wasn’t fair that every time Will opened himself up for him, Mike would run away. Only returning when the guilt and loneliness chipped at him. Will deserved better.

He opened his mouth to say as much, but Will interrupted him. Sloshing his beer in the can, staring inside like it was Narnia, Will asked quietly, “What do you even want from me, Mike?”

Mike sighed. Ignored the question. “What happened to Castle Byers?”

Will shrugged, taking a swig of his drink. “I was angry. I don’t know. I just needed to do something. Not like I could call you up.”

Mike rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I’m here now.” He licked his lips, adding, “As a friend.”

Will tossed the can into the water below, watching as it fell. Counting the seconds it took to hit. Shrugging then, when it floated in the water, up-ended trash. “So that’s what we are,” Will said, eyes still on the can. The can started to submerge, water rushing inside it. It was becoming invisible, swallowed by the blue-green around it. “We’re just friends.”

Mike played with his fingers. “What else would we be? This is it for us.”

Will shook his head. “So, what, that’s it? We can be friends, or we can be nothing?”

Mike blinked his eyes, trying to clear them. “It has to be like that, Will,” he said quietly, little more than a whimper.

Will’s eyes were wet. “And if I can’t? If I can’t pretend nothing happened?”

“Will.”

“I can’t, Mike,” Will said, a tear slipping down his cheek. A sad smile was on his face, a look of defeat. “I can’t do that. So I guess. I can’t be your friend.”

“Will…”

Will held up a hand, wiping the stray tear with his other. “Just go, Mike. Leave me alone.”

“Will,” he tried again, pleaing. But Will was squared away, popping open another beer, ignoring him. Staring back down at the water, where the beer can drowned.

He should have stayed, he realized later, awake at one-in-the-morning with their conversation on repeat. He should have stayed. He should have watched the sky turn black, helped Will up, let him lean on him when he stumbled. Tucked Will in when he was sleepy. Told Will he loved him, among other things. But he didn’t. He left Will drunk and upset at the edge of a cliff. 

When he got the phone call the next morning, when Joyce shrieked that Will was missing, the first thing he thought of was the cliff and the beer can. 

* * *

  
  


_ Mike is with his mother, in the kitchen, listening to her sweet humming as she bustles to-and-fro, preparing dinner. Today he managed to wake up at noon and get dressed. Sweatpants and a sweater, but better than wandering his bedroom in his underwear. _

_ His mother is smiling, laying out her tools: whisks, a cup of water, tin foil. A butter knife, and more. She searches through her drawers. _

_ When Mike catches her eyes, her smile deepends, revealing all of her sugar-white teeth. “Michael,” she says. “I’m so glad you got up. Dinner’s going to be great tonight.” _

_ He shrugs, then realizing how rude he seems, he clears his throat. Adding, “Yeah, happy to help.” _

_ His mother smiles again, surprised to hear him talking. The smile is contagious. Mike feels the corners of his lips quirk. _

_ “You seem in a better mood today.” She flips through her recipe book. _

_ Mike looks down at his hands. “I feel better, I guess.” The words sound strange leaving his mouth. Feeling better. Does he even have the right? _

_ She turns to him then, suddenly serious. “I’m glad,” she says sincerely. Earnestly. Her hand rests on his shoulder, squeezing. “I know you don’t like talking about these kinds of things. But, if you ever decide you do… I’m here for you, okay?” _

_ I’m here for you. Mike softens at the words. _

_ He realizes he’s crying only when she pulls him close for a hug, his chin on her shoulder. She coos at him like he’s five and bleeding from falling at the playground. Muttering in his ear a chant: “It’s okay, you’re here now, you’re fine, I’m here.” _

_ He pulls back after a minute, after her shoulder is soaked in tears. “Sorry,” he mumbles. _

_ She shakes her head. “It’s okay. How are you feeling? Better?” _

_ “I’m better,” he admits. _

_ “Do you… Do you want to talk about it?” _

_ He’s quiet for a moment. And then he nods.  _

_ “It starts with tin foil,” he begins. _

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaahhh. This took me SO long to write. I had to power through with my broken ADHD brain for hours. And okay, I realize it's a pretty lame fic. It reads rushed, it has a lot of awkward phrasing and jumbled words. It's not perfect. But, in a weird way I'm still sorta proud of it?? Like, I'm glad it actually got finished. And I really hope somebody finds it at least semi-entertaining. 
> 
> I'd also like to say that I don't hate Will Byers, and the next fic I write I'm DEFINITELY giving him a happy ending.
> 
> Anyways, thank you so much for reading! I really appreciate it.


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